


Exit

by DNAchemLia



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DNAchemLia/pseuds/DNAchemLia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Written for the NFA Terse Title, We Really Really Love Tony and Very Special Agent Challenges</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective copyright holders. No infringement intended. The original characters and places mentioned are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to those living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.

“Come on, don’t do this to me! Tim, stay with me!” Tony barely heard the sounds of approaching sirens as he desperately tried to stop the flow of blood from his partner’s chest. One moment of distraction, one  _ stupid _ mistake, and now McGee was paying the price. 

Tony registered the sounds of screeching brakes followed by running feet approaching and he turned to see two paramedics and their gear. They quickly shoved him out of the way to work on McGee and just before he lost contact McGee’s eyes opened and his wide, pain-filled, terrified gaze locked on Tony. Any words of comfort he had died in his throat as Tim’s eyes closed and he went limp. 

Tony watched in agony as the paramedics worked to stabilize McGee, and while he couldn’t understand their jargon, the tone of the voices made one thing very clear: they didn’t think their patient was going to make it.

_ Tim’s dying. I just killed my best friend... _

Tony’s gaze wandered to the body of the man who had shot McGee, wishing he could bring him back to life just to shoot him again. He hadn’t even noticed the gunman as he moved in to clear the room, but McGee had...a moment too late. The warning had scarcely left his throat before the gunman had turned on him and emptied what was left of his clip at the two agents, with McGee catching most of those bullets. 

And wasn’t it ironic? Tony himself hadn’t been hit at all. 

He had turned his own gun on the man as McGee fell and he returned the favor, emptying the full clip into the man’s chest. Tony hadn’t bothered to wait until the shooter hit the floor before moving to help his partner, and what he had found turned his blood to ice as he desperately called for an ambulance.

A curse from one of the paramedics drew his attention and he turned to see them lift the gurney that held McGee and rush him to the waiting ambulance outside. He followed, ignoring the small crowd that had gathered outside and reached the ambulance as they were loading McGee. 

“Where are you taking him?”

“GW. It’s closest.” 

“Will he--?”

“We’ll do our best.” The woman’s expression indicated she wasn’t expecting their best to be enough. She slammed the doors and ran to the driver’s seat, gunning the engine and flipping on the siren as soon as she was inside. She laid on the horn and the onlookers scattered as she gunned the engine and took off with a screech of tires. The smell of burning rubber lingered in the air as Tony watched the ambulance roar down the street and turn a corner, disappearing from sight.

“Sir? Can you tell me what happened here?”

He turned to see a patrol officer eyeing him suspiciously as his partner worked crowd control.

“Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS,” he identified himself as he slowly reached for his badge and held it up for inspection. “Working a case, came to interview a suspect. He opened fire on us.”

“And the suspect?”

“Dead. In there,” he gestured towards the house as he kept his gaze trained on the place where he had last seen the ambulance. He barely registered that the officer was relaying that information to dispatch and requesting a call to the Navy Yard.

“And the victim?”

Tony winced at the choice of words. “My partner. Special Agent McGee.”

“Did Agent McGee discharge his weapon?”

Tony just shook his head.

“Alright, sir. Please come with me.” Reluctantly he followed the officer away from the scene and waited by the patrol car, his mind on the incident.

_ Your fault. Tim’s dying...probably dead, and it’s your fault. _

Tony watched the Metro detectives arrive and wondered how long it would take for Gibbs to get there...and what he would do when he did.

_ Whatever it is, you deserve it. You screwed up. You royally screwed up, and this time nobody can fix it.  _

He briefly considered driving back to headquarters and reached into his pocket for the car keys before he remembered that he hadn’t driven there. Tim had. The keys were with his partner.

_ Not that they’re going to do him any good now... _

He turned away from the sedan and with a bit of surprise Tony realized he was only a couple of blocks from his apartment. He turned towards his building, just visible in the distance, and absently wondered if anyone would notice if he left. In his daze, he started walking.

No one stopped him.

Soon, he was within sight of the door and he fished into his pocket for his keys, wincing when he noticed the smears of blood he was leaving behind.

Tim’s blood. Tim’s blood was on his hands. Literally.

He stumbled through the door and up the stairs to his apartment. He shut the door behind and started to strip the stained clothes from his body. He threw them in a corner and walked to the bathroom where he turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it and stepped inside. He watched the water turn red as it sluiced down the drain, scrubbing at the stains until his skin was red and raw and the water was cold. After toweling off, he padded to his bedroom to dress, pulling on an old pair of jeans and a ratty sweatshirt before collapsing onto his bed.

As he stared at the ceiling, trying to understand what had happened, a litany of his personal tragedies played over in his mind.

_ Kate. Paula. Jenny. Tim. Kate. Paula. Jenny. Tim. You failed them. All of them. _

He could still feel the spatters of Kate’s blood as they struck his face. He could almost taste the odor of charred flesh that has seeped through the wall behind which Paula had been torn asunder by a bomb. He could feel the grit in his eyes and smell the cordite that still hung in the air in that dusty desert dinner where Jenny had been gunned down. He could sense Tim’s blood flowing over his hands…

_ No more. _

He rose from his bed and walked to the living room where a small safe was hidden behind his movie collection. He opened it and removed a thick envelope, emptying the contents onto nearby bar’s surface. A passport. A driver’s license. Checkbook. Credit cards. Cash. The products of the only decent thing Jenny had done for him during that damn op: a legend. A perfect identity, untraceable to him. It was to serve as an emergency escape if things went south. He hadn’t needed it, hadn’t used it.

Until now.

Tony gathered the documents and carried them back to his bedroom. He deposited them in a small duffle bag, along with a change of clothes and a few other necessities before he returned to his closet and dug out an old pair of running shoes.

_ Appropriate... _

After pulling on the shoes and grabbing his bag, he returned to the living room and dug through the discarded pile of clothes until he found what he was looking for: his gun, his badge, his ID, his wallet. He carefully laid them out on the counter, wincing when he noticed a smear of blood on the face of the badge.

_ I’m sorry, Tim. I’m so sorry. _

The last thing he placed on the counter was his cell phone. Five missed calls, all from Gibbs.

_ I’m breaking Rule Three. Doesn’t matter. Already broke Rule One, don’t screw over your partner. Can’t screw him over any worse than getting him killed, can I? _

He left the apartment and walked out of the building. After one last glance, he turned away from the last reminder of his old life.

And he started to run.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

_***one year later*** _

"Good set tonight, Tony."

"Thanks, Mac," Tony replied absently as he closed the cover over the battered lounge piano's keyboard and ran a dustcloth over its surface. He was exhausted, as he always was after filling in when the bar's scheduled entertainment failed to show, but it was a _clean_ sort of exhaustion, unencumbered by worries that he hadn't done enough to fulfill his duty.

"No, thank you. You've saved my butt _plenty_ of times these past few months."

Tony winced. _At least you could save someone..._

Mac noticed his expression and paused to study his employee. "You OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Just feel a headache coming on."

"I hear ya. Long night." He patted Tony on the back. "Take tomorrow off. You've earned it."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. Work is...its own kind of therapy."

Mac laughed. "I see my daughter's rubbing off on ya. Another favor I owe you, letting her practice her head-shrinking stuff on you."

"Well, luckily, my head is still normal-sized, headache and all." Tony managed a smile. "I think she's got a bright future. She straightened me out pretty well. Mostly."

"Eh, nothing wrong with being a little bent."

"Hey, I tried tell her that. She didn't seem to believe me."

"That's because she takes after her mother. Woman's straight as an arrow. Kinda annoying sometimes...but don't tell her I said that."

"My lips are sealed."

"Good man. Go on, go home. I'll finish up. Like I said, you deserve a break. But hey, with my luck, some talent agent's gonna 'discover' you and you'll be off to L.A. to become rich and famous...and I'll be left high and dry again."

"Never happen, Mac."

"You don't think you have the talent?"

"Nah, I don't think a talent agent would be caught dead in here," Tony replied with a grin and Mac let out a bark of laughter.

"Smart ass. Probably right about that, though. Ah, well, their loss is my gain. See you tomorrow, Tony."

"G'night Mac. Stay safe."

"You know it. G'night."

Tony chuckled softly to himself as he let himself out through the back door and headed home, sobering slightly when a stray thought popped into his head.

_What a difference a year makes…_

He shook his head and increased his pace as he tried to clear those thoughts from his mind. It still hurt to think of his 'past life', but he supposed that was to be expected. He was sure Marcia, his shrink-in-training, would agree, and tell him it was all part of the healing process. He'd told her once that some wounds would never heal and she'd replied that everything healed as long as you were alive to let it.

Surprisingly sound advice from a twenty-something psych major.

He had wondered, more than once, if he should try to get closure, but the thought of returning to that life left him cold. He'd burned his bridges. Basically napalmed them too. There was no going back. There was nothing to go back _to_ , was there?

He finally reached his apartment, a small cluster of rooms in the basement of an old brick building belonging to the widow of a wealthy businessman. She appreciated having 'a man in the house for safety' and he appreciated the baked treats she'd bring to him on the irregular occasions when they were both home, awake, and had time to talk. Which hadn't happened recently, unfortunately. Her snickerdoodles put his father's to shame.

Tony winced again at the memory of someone else he had left behind. He'd managed to contact his father while the elder DiNozzo was overseas and spun a story about an undercover assignment in order to alleviate the man's concern. As a result, he hadn't heard from him since. Probably a good thing, otherwise his landlady might have become his newest stepmother, he thought with a shudder.

Tony entered his apartment and shut the door behind him, sighing with relief that he was finally home. The small space was as neat as his old apartment, but with considerably less content. He wasn't home enough for it to matter, really, and when he was he spent his time there sleeping. Simple and unencumbered, his new existence suited him. He had been surprised at how easily he had fallen into a life outside law enforcement. Granted, bartending didn't pay all that well, but he'd had enough of a cushion with the cash in his safe to start out comfortable and stay that way, at least for the time being.

After a quick shower to wash away the grime of the job, Tony stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave and settled into the more comfortable of his two chairs with a beer to wait. The beep of the microwave was followed almost immediately be a knock at the door. Tony checked his watch and frowned. It was way past Mrs. Murphrey's bedtime, so who could be bugging him at this time of night? He considered ignoring the summons, suspecting it was some drunk who had wandered home and wound up at the wrong place, but a second round of knocking changed his mind.

Dragging himself out of his chair, he retrieved a small revolver from the stand next to his chair and cautiously approached the door. After taking a deep breath he peered through the peephole and froze, letting out a small gasp of disbelief. Though the fish-eye lens he could just make out the features of the person standing there. He immediately tucked the gun into his belt, undid the chain, and came face to face with his visitor, the absolute last person he had expected to see.

" _Tim?"_

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

"Tim?"

For a brief moment Tony thought he had lost his mind. _Again_ , his subconscious helpfully supplied. He stared at the other man for what seemed like eternity before he finally spoke.

"Tony."

Tony reached out and hesitantly placed his hand on the man's shoulder. He let out a huff of soft, nearly hysterical laughter when he felt solid flesh beneath his fingers..

"You're alive…" He pulled McGee into an embrace which, after a few awkward moments he returned.

"So are you."

Tony felt a stab of guilt. It was time to own up to what he'd done...and to hope for forgiveness.

"Yeah," he replied as he reluctantly released McGee. "Guess we need to talk about that. Come on in." He stepped aside and McGee slowly walked into the apartment.

"You OK?"

"I've been worse." He settled into one of the chairs and Tony took the other as he studied the younger man. It was clear he wasn't yet fully recovered, but he also knew that mentioning that would get him nowhere.

"So…"

"What happened, Tony?"

"You were there, McGee."

"Not that. Why did you leave?"

"Kinda thought that would be obvious, Tim." McGee raised an eyebrow. "I screwed up. Again."

"How did you screw up?"

"I didn't see… I was distracted. I should have seen that guy before he… Damn it. I thought I got you _killed._ "

"You _saved_ me. They told me that if you hadn't gotten help as fast as you did-"

"I shouldn't have had to get you help in the first place!"

McGee sighed. "I didn't see him either, Tony."

"Yeah, well, I should have. It's...it was my job."

"That's not all it was about, though. You left, not a word to anybody, and…" A look of pain crossed his face. "We thought… We thought you had… _Why_ , Tony? What made you just drop everything you cared about and disappear?"

Tony sighed. "I broke, Tim. Just like Gibbs before he ran off to Mexico. I didn't even realize what happened at the time."

A flash of anger crossed McGee's face. "Bull. Gibbs _told_ us he was leaving. And you… Not a _word_ , Tony! Do you have _any_ idea-"

"Yes. _Now_ I do, Tim. I did realize what I had done, but…" He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "God, this is such a mess." After a few moments he was able to meet McGee's gaze. "Everything that had been building for...years, I guess, had me on edge, and then… it was the final straw. My mind apparently couldn't take it. I had a breakdown, Tim. Psychotic break, Marcia called it. Brought on by PTSD."

"Marcia?"

"My, uh, shrink. Kind of a long story. The whole thing is, actually."

Tim leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm listening."

Tony sighed again. "When you got shot, I… I knew you were dead. In my heart, in my gut, I _knew_ it. And at that point my mind...wasn't listening to anything else. All I could see was that I had gotten someone else killed. Someone else died on my watch, like Kate, like Paula, like Jenny...and like it had almost been Gibbs. Too many people, Tim. Too many _good_ people. Because of me."

"Tony, _none_ of those were your fault. What happened to me-"

" _Was_ my fault. That's how I saw it. How I _still_ see it, sometimes. I was distracted, Tim. I was thinking about all the crap life had thrown at me, how I was going to deal with it, or not deal with it again, and...I should have seen him. I was first in. I was the senior agent. It was my job to protect my partner...and I failed. That's all I could see, and...I guess I thought everyone would be better off if I left. No chance of me getting anyone else killed." He gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "As I said, reality and I parted company for awhile. By the time I realized how bad off I had been...I tried to find your obituary. Never could find it and… Well, still in denial, I just figured they hadn't posted one. Maybe your family requested it. I didn't really know."

McGee pondered that for a few moments before moving on to his next question. "So how did you disappear?"

"I had an old undercover ID. From that op with the Frog. A damn good one, though, a legend, and I used it to disappear." He looked up at McGee. "Apparently not good enough. You found me."

"By pure dumb luck."

"Now I don't believe that."

It was Tim's turn to laugh. "It's true. After you disappeared, we… the rest of the team tried to find you. Nothing. It was like you vanished off the face of the Earth. Gibbs was…" He winced. "Gibbs was determined to find you. Finally Vance had to issue an official cease and desist. I, uh… It was a long time before I was up to doing anything and by that time the trail was cold. I offered, but Vance wouldn't budge, so I set up a few programs after hours, mainly with the facial recognition software we've been testing, and… I finally got a hit. Did some checking and… the pieces fit."

"And you came to find me. Not Gibbs. Guess he was glad to get rid of me after all."

"Don't say that, Tony. I wasn't around during the initial search for you, but...it was bad. He…" McGee sighed. "Seems to be a common theme. He thought it was his fault. I thought it was _my_ fault."

" _Your_ fault? Why?"

"Hey, you're not the only one who can have misplaced guilt."

"Funny. But why did you?"

"You were gone. I was the last member of the team to see you… Like you said, it doesn't always make sense. How did you figure out what happened, anyway? About the, uh…"

"Psychotic break? It took awhile. I don't even really remember how I got here, just that when I finally came out of the fog, I realized that something was wrong. Nothing made sense." He smiled. "Pure dumb luck that I found someone who could help me. I was working at a bar, the owner's daughter came in, we struck up a conversation and suddenly I was having flashbacks of talking to Dr. Kate's Sister. Turns out Marcia's studying to become a psychiatrist and she had some ideas of what was wrong."

"And you actually talked to her? As a patient?"

"Yeah. Desperate times."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Sign of weakness."

"No. It's not. It's not weakness to admit you were wrong, or you could have handled things better. We all could have handled things better." Tim chuckled. "I have it on good authority that Gibbs ripped Metro a new one for letting you leave the scene. That never should have happened."

"No, probably not. What is it they say, whatever can go wrong, will? Guess we should just blame Mr. Murphy and move on."

"Can you? Move on?"

"I kinda already have, Tim. Can't go back. You know that. And...all other things aside, I'm...I think I'm better off."

"How can you be better off, Tony? You loved being a cop."

"'Loved'? Probably too strong of a word, there. It was what I knew. The only thing I knew, for over twenty years. But now I've seen another side of life, and...it's much less complicated. Can't exactly rejoin, not at my age."

"You could teach. At the police academy."

"Nah. Had enough of the teaching gig as 'Professor DiNardo'."

"You realize you didn't actually teach then." Tony noticed the subtle smirk and grinned.

"Yeah, and that's probably for the best. Consider me retired."

"And you're OK with that? Really?"

"Really. I promise. Are you OK?"

"Better than I was...about a lot of things."

"Good."

"But Tony, can you do me a favor? Call Gibbs. Tell him what you told me."

"Would he care?"

Tim sighed. "Yeah, Tony, he would. I know that things were tense with him even before you left, but… I've gotten a different perspective of him lately. I think you should at least try." He reached into his pocket and handed Tony a piece of paper and a small cell phone. "Burner phone. He won't be able to trace back to you...if that's what you want."

"Thanks, Tim. I'll think about it, OK?"

"OK."

"And Tony… Could you, just...keep in touch?"

"Yeah. I can do that, Tim."

"Thanks." He checked his watch. "I better get going. Delilah's probably started to worry."

"Tell Wheels I said Hi," Tony replied with a grin as he helped McGee to his feet. "And if you want to tell anyone else…"

"I can do that. Thanks, Tony. It's...it's a weight off my mind, knowing you're OK."

"Yeah. I'm really glad you're OK, too." He pulled him into another hug and this time Tim returned it without hesitation. "Missed you, Probie."

"Yeah. Missed you, too. See you around?"

"If you insist."

Finally Tim gave him a genuine smile. "I do. G'night, Tony."

"G'night Tim. Be careful out there."

Tim just nodded and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him. Tony stared at the phone McGee had given him and, after a few minutes hesitation, turned it on and dialed the number he'd been given. It rang three times, and then…

" _Yeah, Gibbs."_

"It's me. Tony." Silence. He thought for a moment that Gibbs had hung up but soon he realized he could still hear Gibbs breathing.

"I know you have a rule against it, but I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like I did, but… it was a little beyond my control. I'm sorry I never checked on McGee...or the rest of the team. I should have. I do realize that now." The silence remained and Tony took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not coming back, Gibbs. Even if I could… I can't. It's not who I am anymore. I know you probably think I should be out there, catching the dirtbags, but… Nothing I did seemed to matter. There's always more, and...I'm tired, Gibbs. I thought the job would be enough, but...there are better people out there to handle it. I… I've lost too many people. Even though I really didn't lose Tim, it still felt like it, and...I've had enough. I don't… I don't want to be like you Gibbs, not anymore."

" _Are you happy, Tony?"_

Tony laughed softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

" _Then you're a better man than I'll ever be."_

"Thanks...Boss."

" _Goodbye, Tony. And good luck."_

"Goodbye, Gibbs."

A soft click ended the call and Tony gently set the phone on the table. After a few minutes, he started to laugh. A weight he hadn't fully realized he was bearing had been lifted from his shoulder. He was going to be OK.

Eventually.

The End


End file.
